


Appetite

by floatingaway4



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Henry Needs A Hug, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26032411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floatingaway4/pseuds/floatingaway4
Summary: Can you want too much?
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 34
Kudos: 148





	Appetite

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably make more sense if you read One Saturday first...otherwise you’ll be confused, I think.

Henry loves listening to his grandma’s stories. He can sit at her table with his cheek resting on his hand, his posture far less than perfect, and she never barks at him to sit up straight or “remember who you are,” like his Gran does. 

He doesn’t actually care so much about his grandmother’s neighbor Agatha and her son Neil, (or maybe it’s Nicky, Grandma can never remember.) He doesn’t care about how Mr. Jamison always lets his dog get into the rubbish, making a mess all over his neighbors’ lawns. But Henry does laugh when Grandma imitates Mrs. Willoughby chasing the dog down the street and then yelling at Mr. Jamison and calling him a...word Henry isn’t allowed to repeat. 

Mostly, Henry just loves being the center of her attention. She calls him her ‘little angel’ and musses his hair and pats his cheek. Henry has always felt less important than his big brother, not because his parents treat him that way, but because everyone else does. Gran and everyone in the palace make it clear that Philip is their main concern and Henry is, well, he’s just...not as important. But he feels special here, because Grandma tells him he is. 

He also likes the Jaffa Cakes. 

She started keeping them in the pantry a long time ago, hidden on a low shelf, just for him. His brother and sister prefer other snacks, and Grandma doesn’t eat them, so they’re his own special treat. 

When he was very little, Grandma would give Henry one and put the package back in the pantry. It doesn’t have a door-- the entrance is just an opening off the kitchen-- so it wasn’t hard for him to sneak in and grab another one while she was turned toward the stove or digging a pot from her cluttered cabinets. He would stuff the first wrapper back in the box when he grabbed the second one. He thought he was very, very clever. 

When he got a little older, Henry realized Grandma must have been onto him, because of course she would have found the wrappers after he left. But she never says anything, just lets him sneak extra cakes between her stories and impersonations of the residents of Falmouth Lane. 

During one visit, Henry is out of sorts. He was invited to a party by one of his schoolmates but he wasn’t allowed to go because his Gran didn’t think the family was of high enough stature for Henry to be seen with. Henry didn’t understand who would see him at a children’s garden party, except for his other classmates and their parents and nannies. He was going to ask his dad if he could go, but he was away working on a film. He’d asked his mum to _please_ let him go, but she said she couldn't argue with Gran about certain things. And that was the end of that. 

_The other children came back to school the next Monday, excitedly babbling about the party games and fairy cakes and ice cream and how they’d had something called a piñata, which Henry had heard of but had never seen. Henry sat at his desk, reading and trying to pretend he didn’t hear them talking. Trying to pretend he didn’t care. One of the boys called him a snob that day, and he didn’t know exactly what it meant but the way the boy said it made him cry. He waited til he got home, though. He knew enough to do that._

_He asked Bea later what the word meant, and she hugged him hard and told him it didn’t matter._

He learns later, of course, because he looks it up in his big dictionary. 

He doesn’t tell Grandma about the party, because he’s trying to be a man about it. He’s only 7, but Philip is always trying to teach him to “be a man” and Henry tries, he really does. He tries to stand as straight as Philip can and look as serious as Philip does, but it’s so hard to be that boring all the time. He has become quite good at junior polo, and beats Philip in most of their matches, but that doesn’t seem to impress Philip or any of the other people in the palace, except for Bea, who cheers and claps for Henry when he plays well. 

So instead of talking about how he feels, Henry sneaks into the pantry while Grandma is pulling a dish from the oven, and grabs an extra Jaffa Cake. When he looks back, he realizes she’s still turned away, fussing over her casserole, so he decides to risk pulling two extra cakes from the box. He slips back to the table and sets the extra cakes on the bench seat next to him. They aren’t hidden, really, and if anyone walked over they would see them there. So he eats the first one quickly and replaces it on the table with the second one. He waits until she’s bent over, searching for the cream in the refrigerator, and shoves the second cake in his mouth. When she stands up suddenly to ask if Henry wants some milk, he can only nod and hope she doesn’t notice his puffed-out, chipmunk cheeks. 

Flush with sugary victory, Henry manages to eat five more cakes without Grandma noticing. It makes him feel full and content and lets him forget about the fact that he doesn’t really have any friends at school or ...anywhere, really. Lots of people call him ‘Prince Henry’ and smile at him like they know him, but he learned quickly those people aren’t friends. 

Bea. Bea is his friend. 

His polo pony gets excited when he walks up to the stable...but that’s hardly the same. 

_When he was four or five, Henry had given up on getting a little brother or sister and instead created an imaginary friend. A little boy who would play with him and roll his eyes at all the silly rules, run down the palace hallways and giggle with him during posture lessons, maybe even cheer for him during polo practice. He named his friend Simon, after a boy in the class above his who had the prettiest brown eyes Henry had ever seen. He already knew he wasn’t supposed to notice things like that, certainly was not supposed to say them out loud. But it was okay to tell Imaginary Simon that he had pretty eyes. Imaginary Simon never laughed at him or called him names._

_Sometimes Henry wanted to kiss Imaginary Simon but he knew that was wrong, even if he wasn’t real._

_But he could hold Imaginary Simon’s hand. No one knew about that. It was their secret._

Henry is so pleased with his bravery and stealth that he decides he’ll just have one more cake. One more can’t hurt. But the next time he sneaks in, the box is empty. 

Henry isn’t as eager as he usually is for his Grandma’s stew that afternoon. Mum leans over and feels his forehead and asks if he feels well. He takes a couple bites and tells her he’s just not hungry. 

On the drive home, Henry starts to feel...funny. The car seems to be swaying and he feels like he sometimes does on the boat with his dad, when the waves are choppy. 

He tries to hold it in, but he can’t help it when he throws up all over the back seat of the car. Twice. 

His mother tries to comfort him, while Philip complains that he made a mess everywhere and Bea whines about the smell and the spots that got on the little purse she carries everywhere. Mum rolls the window down and rubs his back until the driver can pull over. The driver comes around to help his mother clean him up. They end up riding back with their security people in one of the other cars. Philip threatens to make Henry ride in the boot and Henry cries and his mum tells Philip to be quiet. Bea looks sympathetic, from a safe distance. Everyone looks uncomfortable and Henry knows it is all his fault. 

Henry doesn’t eat Jaffa Cakes for a while after that. 

He doesn’t know if his mother ever really figured out why he got sick. He’ll have to ask her on one of her good days, he thinks, as he sits staring at the news story about him and Alex at the Beekman. 

This is all his fault. Again. 

Because he can’t get enough of Alex. 

Immediately after their first night together, he started poring over his itineraries as soon as he got them, searching for any flimsy excuse to see Alex again. Being with Alex is sweet and wild and wonderful and forbidden and Henry Cannot. Get. Enough. It’s absolutely about the sex, he’s not going to lie. But it’s also because Alex makes him laugh and teases him and treats him like he’s a real person, not a title. It’s because Alex seems to want Henry around all the time too. Looks excited to see him, even if he has to hide it when they’re in front of other people. Breaks all the silly rules with Henry, _for_ Henry. Wants to fuck him but also wants to talk to him and laugh with him and know what Henry thinks about... _everything,_ even if it's just so he can argue that Henry is wrong _._ Henry thinks it was easier to get used to having semi-regular sex than it was to having someone ask for his opinions all the time. 

And now, Henry has ruined it all, of course. Because he was foolish and couldn't stop himself. 

_Henry had been with Pez in New York when his phone pinged with a Google alert about the Republican nominee. Henry didn’t have a completely solid grasp on the American political system, but he had started paying attention to all the people Alex mentioned repeatedly during their long, rambling conversations. The alert he set for any mention of “Jeffrey Richards” directed him to an article about Rafael Luna signing on to work with him. Since Henry knew Alex practically worshipped Rafael Luna and referred to Richards as “that rat bastard,” like it was part of his name, Henry had a bad feeling about this._

_Pez whacked Henry on the side of the head with a rolled up piece of paper and shoved a form at him. “Hen, come on, I don’t want to be here all damn day. Stop sexting your boy toy and get to work.”_

_Henry elbowed Pez. “It’s not, I’m not…” He ran a hand through his hair. “Something came up in the campaign and I’m worried about him, that’s all.”_

_Pez dramatically slapped his hands over his heart. “The campaign? So romantic, you two!” He rolled his eyes. “Just lie to me next time and tell me you’re sexting.”_

_“Shut up,” Henry told him with a grin, but put his phone down and got back to work._

_He ruminated over what to do for the rest of the evening. Alex never got in touch with him so maybe everything really was fine. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal. After all, Henry is the one who gets quiet when he’s upset. Alex complains. Loudly. To anyone who will listen._

_When it was time to leave, Henry stopped short of getting in the car at the curb. He tried to be casual. “You know, Pez, I think I might stay in town tonight. Just, erm, see the city a bit, you know.”_

_Pez rests a hand on his shoulder. “Henry, dearest boy, it’s late. New York might be the city that never sleeps, but you’ve never been one for the wild nightlife. You also have no other clothes, no suitcase, and no reservations anywhere. And my shelter isn’t open yet, so I can’t help you with that.”_

_Henry just stared at him, not even bothering to come up with a lie._

_Pez sighed and got in the car. “Come on, Romeo, I’ll drop you at your strumpet’s hotel. I assume you know where he’s staying.”_

And now, weeks after the fact, there’s a video and blurry screen grabs on the internet of them walking together and standing in the elevator. Henry has his arm wrapped low around Alex’s waist. Photographic proof that Henry has no self-control. 

Henry already knows both of their press teams are spinning hard, insisting that’s just a friendly bromance side hug, but even a blind person could see that it’s not. Jesus Christ, if Henry didn’t know who the men in the picture were, he would automatically assume they’re sleeping together. They look so comfortable in each other’s space, the way they’re leaning into each other’s bodies. Henry has two fingers stuck through one of Alex’s belt loops in a way that is not really open to interpretation. He’s glad the camera angle only got them from the back, because Henry vaguely remembers Alex laying a hand on his stomach in a casually possessive way no press agent would ever have been able to spin. 

This is his fault. He hasn’t been able to resist Alex, since the first moment he saw him. Couldn’t ever stop himself from having just one more evening with Alex, one more kiss, one more night in the same bed, one more time waking up with him….. 

And then Henry had really tempted fate, by daring to want something more, something permanent. Something real. He wants the going to bed and waking up and having sex when they _feel like it,_ not because of the goddamn timer that starts counting down the minute they lay eyes on each other. 

He especially wants those things now, because they’ve recovered from Henry trying to “be a man” and “straighten up” and push Alex away. He’d heard his Gran’s voice, so loud and stern in his head, telling him to “remember who you are,” and he had run. 

  
Lucky for him, Alex had flown across the ocean, and helped him remember exactly who he was. 

And then they said things like “I love you” and “forever” and he really, really wants that to be true. It will hurt so much more now, when he loses everything...loses his best friend. 

Henry feels queasy, but not like he used to feel when he was out on the boat with his father and the waves were choppy. 

More like how he used to feel when he would see beautiful boys in school and know he wasn’t allowed to think that, to feel that, about them. 

Like how he felt when Gran let him know he was unacceptable. 

Like how he felt when mum and dad told him what the oncologist said. 

Like how he feels when Gran talks about marriage and heirs and his royal fucking duty. 

It’s his fault, he thinks again, looking at the picture, blurry (but not blurry enough) and distorted from where they paused the video. He brought this on himself. If he just hadn’t _wanted_ so much, maybe it wouldn’t all be slipping away. 

Two years later, after he’s hit in the back of the head by a crumpled piece of paper and told to, “Get your sweet ass over here,” he turns to tell his demonic boyfriend there are other ways to get his attention. And yet, Henry is out of his chair and standing behind Alex, looking at that same grainy picture on Alex’s screen. 

“Why are you...where did you even find that?” Henry asks, not especially pleased. 

“I was avoiding work and clicked on one of those ‘Top 10 stories of the decade’ articles. Guess what, babe, we’re number three.” 

Henry shrugs dismissively, “Arbitrary rankings, I’m sure.” 

“Totally,” Alex nods. He reaches back toward Henry, who takes his hand without thinking. “You know what I hated the most about this whole fucking mess?” Alex asks, gesturing to the screen with his other hand. 

“That I had to pretend to have a thing for your sister?” Henry asks. He drops a quick kiss on Alex’s head, for the best reason of all...because he can. 

“Well, that too,” Alex nods. He turns to look up at Henry, his expression unreadable. “The thing I hated the most was that I _liked_ this stupid picture.” 

Henry’s gaze follows Alex’s hand, watches his fingers brush over the screen at the spot where their bodies meet. “We had all those fake friendly press photos, but nothing like…” he bites his lip and look up at Henry. “We didn’t have any pictures that were really of _us_ , you know?” Alex glances between Henry and Henry’s image. “Not like this.” 

Henry furrows his brow, feels a twinge of that same queasy feeling again. Thankfully, it’s less familiar now. “Christ, Alex, I felt so guilty when that came out.” His hand tightens on Alex’s. "I knew better than to put us both at risk at something so public and so important to your career, just so we could...it was such a dumb thing to do.” 

Alex looks up at him, confused and a little annoyed. “No, it wasn’t. You came there because you cared about me, because you knew I needed you there. No one, outside my family, had ever done that for me, baby.” 

Alex turns back to the screen. “And I mean, yeah, I hated what this picture _did_ to us, to you, especially, and the quality is obviously shit.” He looks back up to Henry. “I know it all blew up in our faces, and I hate those fuckers for stalking us.” Alex stands and loops his arms over Henry’s shoulders, looking into his eyes and speaking slowly. “But it always mattered to me that you came when I needed you.” Alex smiles, that slow, warm smile, the one that drew Henry in before Alex even walked over to introduce himself, all those years ago. He lowers his voice. “You told me once you weren’t sorry for anything, remember?” Henry nods. Alex jerks his head back at the picture. “I will never be sorry for that night.” 

Henry looks back at the screen and stares at the way their bodies are connected. He looks at it without thinking about what came after. He sees, finally, something besides photographic evidence of one of the worst decisions he ever made. Sees proof of something besides weakness...and who the hell convinced him that loving someone was a weakness, anyway? 

The queasy feeling is long gone. His eyes are a little wet, though. 

Henry holds Alex’s face gently between his hands and stares into the prettiest brown eyes he’s ever seen. He kisses him and kisses him and caresses his cheeks with his thumbs and then kisses him again. 

“It is a good picture, when you look at it that way,” he assures Alex, and watches that incredible smile bloom again on his boyfriend’s face. Henry shakes his head a little in wonder. He holds Alex’s hand and pulls him toward their bedroom.

Henry glances back at his desk, at the half eaten Jaffa Cake he was snacking on before Alex hurled paper and obscenities at him and then grinned that infernal fucking grin. 

It’s still his favorite snack, and he might finish it later. But it’s not a big deal if he gets distracted by other things right now. He’s learned some moderation since he was younger, in most areas of his life... 

But he will never get enough of Alex. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I do not intentionally sit down to write about vomit. But yes, this is the second story where it played a part in the plot :-) I’m sorry…?
> 
> So...I'm on tumblr now but I don't know what I'm doing yet. But it's under the same name, feel free to visit!


End file.
